


Captain Grace: First Avenger

by LadyVisenya



Series: pjo x mcu [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Marvel Cinematic Universe Fusion, F/M, Gen, Trans Character, also i have placed many women in positions of power, in which i make choices and maybe they work out, who cares about the 1940s gender norms, will gets five seconds of screentime before i make him fight aliens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28736373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVisenya/pseuds/LadyVisenya
Summary: Jason Grace gets up again, no matter what life throws at him. He just keeps getting up. He doesn't need to be the strongest or smartest to do the right thing. . .and that may just be enough to save the day according to Dr Erskine.
Relationships: Bianca di Angelo/Jason Grace
Series: pjo x mcu [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1385422
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	1. Baltic Sea 0700

Will is freezing his ass off as he walks around the deck, bow strapped to his back. The thick fur lined jacket does little so cut through the frigid air this far north. There’s ice in the water, and he really should’ve finished med school. There is no reason for him to be heading security on some research boat for shield. Most of the agents here are scientists. 

He especially misses the heat of the New Mexican desert. 

It had been months ago now, but the memory of the heat on his skin keeps him going. Daylight hours are short here. 

Will looks over the railing into the watery depths below. It’s not that bad. One thing about SHIELD, he’s gotten to travel to places most people never will. He definitely travels more than he imagined he ever would as a dirt poor texan kid. He stretches his arms over his head. 

It’s been a quiet trip. 

These scientists, trying to find whalefalls and measuring water pollution levels. It’s not exactly the high level clearance stuff he’s used to. And it sure as heck isn’t what he imagined when he got recruited by the CIA, let alone when he started with SHIELD. 

He wishes he could drink his coffee out here without it becoming ice coffee in minutes. 

Will glances around the ship, taking in the movement of Dr. Patel and her assistant yawning as they head inside, having spent the night collecting ice samples. There’s no concerning movement. 

Will is as relaxed as his bow. 

He keeps walking forward at a lingering pace. Did these people even know what SHIELD does, or had they just taken the funding? Will sure as heck hadn’t questioned where his scholarships came from back in undergrad. He’d just been excited to be able to afford school. 

Checking his phone, he heads to the stern of the ship. He was curious where they were launching the AUV today. The feed was always cool to see, parts of the ocean that had gone unseen by human eyes since the dawn of their species. 

The Stoll brothers have both sent memes, some of them being the same, and mostly of the ‘my CIA agent’ variety. There’s a photo Piper sent of a beautiful beachside city. “Good guys get the views,” she’d texted. 

Director Ramirez only knew what she was up to. 

And that was the full list of people that had this phone number. 

It was sad. 

He used to be friendly with everyone. 

Now he was using Grindr whenever he got a layover in a huge city. 

Will hadn’t had a boyfriend since his early days in Langley. Everyone talked about serving your country, then protecting the world, but no one ever told you about how lonely it could be.

“Check this out Will,” one of the SUV technicians calls over.

“What’d you find?” 

“Something crazy,” Diego grins with a spark in his eyes, then calls over to Kevin, “you seeing this right!”

“Fuck yeah I am, think we can lift it in one go,” Kevin calls back. 

Will comes closer to the screen. 

Dr. Tran’s eyes widen as both she and Will look at the screen. There’s a chunk of ice illuminated by the SUV lights. Embedded into the ice is a round shield every kid in america recognized, heck, every kid in the world might. Captain America’s shield. “Call it in!” Will can just make out the uniform in the ice. It was the motherlode. “Call it in now!”

Which meant she was surprised to have found it, Will thinks to himself, but not surprised to see it here. 

He has a call of his own to make. 

Everyone’s heading out, wanting to learn what the commotion was all about as Will steps back into the warmth of the ship’s interior. 

He lowers his hood, serving himself a cup of coffee in the gallery as the ship rocks lightly. He calls Director Ramirez. “You said it was a research vessel,” are the first words out of his mouth. To Will’s annoyance, his texan twang comes out. 

“It is,” Reyna says calmly. Then, follows up with an eager, “you’ve seen it then?”  _ It’s true?  _

“They found the body. . .is that what they were really after,” Will asks, “you could’ve mentioned it. Not exactly top secret stuff. Everyone wants to find Captain America.” He’d seen more than one show on the topic on the Discovery channel. 

Director Ramirez pauses. “No. It is a research vessel, but SHIELD has been actively looking for Grace since he went down in ‘44. That was just one mission on board.”

Will rolls his eyes, the warmth of the coffee rapidly spreading through his chest. “Of course it is,” he jokes. 

“Agent Solas,” Director Ramirez says tightly, “last I remember, SHIELD has always worked on a need to know basis. You did not need to know.”

“How am I supposed to secure the ship,” he replies calmly back, “ifI don’t know what I’m securing.”

“You’re a soldier, you take orders, you don’t question them.”

“I never served,” Will points out evenly, “and even if I had, I’m not just some man taking orders. I don’t hide behind that.”

For a moment, there’s just static. 

He wonders if he’s just killed his career. He’s never stuck by the book, couldn’t afford to, on most missions, or else he’d be dead a dozen times over. Will knows he certainly made the right call on Piper despite the piles of paperwork they made him fill for that stunt.

Then, “you’ll accompany the body back to Maine. I’ll meet you there.”

“This isn’t some neat way to make me disappear is it? I’m supposed to fly home for Christmas.” 

Director Ramirez responds lightly this time, “you more than anyone know that’s not standard protocol.”

Will smiles. “Maine then.”

“Oh and Agent Solas?”

“Yeah-”

“You don’t disappoint,” Director Ramirez adds.

The line’s dead before Will can say anything else. 

It seemed she’d had her eye on him for months before, maybe even years. This had for sure been a test. SHIELD wasn’t a shut up and take orders branch of the military. 

Stealing himself, Will heads back outside. 

  
  



	2. 1942

Remus Selvig has lived in the same village his parents and grandparents and great grandparents have. His daughter and her family are the first to leave for the larger cities. He doesn't blame them, hopes they'll be safer, as german soldiers pound on his door. Remus looks at a picture frame, glad his wife passed before this war. The last had been terrible enough. 

He opens the door. 

A tall woman with sharp features stares down at him. Her thin mouth is a deep frown on her face, eyes like water smoothed rocks. She carries herself the way well to do ladies did in his time, though she must be half his age, not a white hair in her chestnut hair, pulled back into a shiny bun. He'd been expecting some SS officer. 

Remus is hiding so much, he's not sure what the nazis are after. 

The woman smiles, but there's no warmth to it. “Hello Mr. Selvig. I was told you were the man to see about the villages history.”

“I am Mr. Selvig,” is all he can manage. 

“I know. Bring ihn mit.” The woman orders the men behind her, in navy uniforms so dark they were almost black. 

They drag him out, shoving him into a huge vehicle. 

“Where are my manners,” the woman smiles. It makes her look cruel. He doesn't understand how a woman could do such evil. “I am Dr Schmidt. I seek something to help the Fuhrer win the war. . .something,” her jaw clenches, “something thought to be mere legend.”

Remus’ stomach turns to lead. No. No one knew about-it was a legend. No one should pay it any mind. 

“Ah, so you do know of it,” Dr Schmidt says, “the greatest treasure of Odin.”

“I have heard stories,” he tries. “But they're just stories.”

The nazi stops smiling. “Knie brechen,” she says lowly, stepping out of the car. 

A soldier jams the stock of his heavy gun into Remus’ knee. He screams, the pain engulfing everything he knows, black swimming in his vision as they drag him out. Every movement erupted in more pain until it was all he knew. 

They had been driven back weeks ago. He didn't know how the nazis had slipped back into his country again. Didn't care so long as they did not check his house again. 

He would die with the location of odin’s artifact. 

A hand grasps his white hair tightly, making him look up at Dr. Schmidt. 

She already knew. She just wanted to be sure. 

They're in the 12th century chapel. It was a beautiful place, expanded as christianity came to the people. It was practically a history book itself. 

Remus liked being able to see the history he loved so dearly in person. 

“Where is it Remus Selvig,” she says with a smirk that made his blood run cold. He would find no mercy from this woman. She was Hel, she was Lilith. “And before you lie to me,” she raised a hand, pointed to-they'd destroyed the chapel walls, the walls that had stood since the first Selvigs had made this village their home. “Choose-your home, or the tesseract.”

Remus swallowed.

Forgive me, he thought. He was only an old man far past his prime. Remus had tried to live a good life, do the right thing, but-

He could no watch them kill his neighbors even at the cost of the world. 

“In the wall, where the holy grail is pictured.”

“Wise choice Mr. Selvig,” the woman smiles, waving a hand for her men to retrieve it. 

“It is-somethings should be left alone.”

Dr. Schmidt scoffs. “Small thinking by lesser men. You cannot begin to comprehend the things the fuhrer and I do. What we will accomplish.” Her eyes shine. 

The soldiers place the ancient box in front of her. 

She smiles, for once, it's genuine. 

“Do not-,” Remus tries.

She opens the box. Bright blue light fills the room. “The tesseract,” Dr Schmidt smiles. “You know, my parents named me after the queen of the gods, Hera, but I think we are modern enough for me to be King no?” 

Hera Schmidt tucks the tesseract back into the box, carrying it herself. “Feuer frei!” She lifts a handgun, and shoots Remus Selvig dead. 

  
  


Jason sits waiting. He really hopes he got through this time. They need the men. For the war. He's not going to sit behind while others die. He taps his foot on the ground. 

“Jason Grace,” the recruitment officer calls out.

He gets up, pushing his thick bottle cap glasses up his nose. “Here-yeah,” he stumbles forward. 

“Where were you born?” The officer doesn't look up.

“Paterson, New Jersey,” Jason lies. It's the fifth time he's tried to enlist. Fifth times the charm?

“And you,” the officer looks up, looks him over and Jason can watch the dismissal he's faced all his life set into his eyes, “want to enlist?”

“Yes. That's why I'm here. Sir.”

The man shakes his head. “There's lots of ways to serve your country son.”

Jason clenches his jaw. “I want to go fight Officer.”

“It's says here your legally blind,” the officer points out, “that alone makes you ineligible. Then there's your asthma, and your heart murmur. . .I'm not sending you overseas son.” The officer stamps 4F onto his file. . .again.

Jason sighs. “Yeah,” and leaves. Again. Turned away. They were in a war and still no one wanted Jason around. 

He steps back out into the street, ready to take the train back into New York. Jason wasn't even in a reserve occupation. He was just a baker.

The train back is salt in the wound. Boys in uniform fills seats, some with baby fat on their cheeks, as they laugh and talk and the dames sneak glances at them. 

The city rushes into view and Jason decides to not to waste his day off, heading to the cinema around his block. 

With his leftover change he buys a ticket to Casablanca and takes a seat on the end of the aisle, near the front. His vision was pretty bad, but it never stopped him before. 

The curtains close, plunging the room into darkness, as the whirl of the projector starts up. 

Jason slumps in his seat, settling in for the showing. Maybe he should've gotten some popcorn. 

The first reel is something that's become familiar in the last few months as the United states entered the war. Film footage of soldiers in London fill the theater, nurses getting ready to ship out, woman in overalls working in munitions factory, american pilots circling the skies. Jason feels the familiar burst of pride. He wishes he was one of them, helping end the awful war. 

“Start the movie already,” some man in front of him heckles. 

Jason rolls his eyes. Some people-

“Who cares!”

“Hey,” Jason snaps, “show some respect!”

The blonde man whips around, “ohh buddy! You want to take this outside!”

“Thought you'd never ask,” Jason snarls back, digging his own grave. His brother taught him how to throw a punch. 

The punch sends him toppling over into the metal bins, cushioned by the trash liners. Jason gets up again, raising his arms to protect himself, fists raised, “I can do this all day.”

“You just don't know when to quit,” the other man says sourly, before throwing another punch.

Jason dodges. He's been in plenty of fights before.

He dodged the punch and throws one of his own, aiming for the man's jaw. 

The man grins, and steps out of the way, grabbing Jason by the cuff of his plaid shirt, and sends him barreling into the pavement behind the cinema. 

Jason wheezes. 

“We done here boy,” the man chuckles as Jason struggles to catch his breath. His glasses had fallen off his nose, hanging on barely, resting against his chin. 

Jason fixes his glasses and gets up again. “Not even close,” he huffs, turning around to face the man again. 

The man punches him again. 

Jason feels his lip split open, as he's sent back down, falling onto the pavement once more. It didn't get any easier, he thinks, heart beating in his chest hummingbird fast. He wheezes, all out of breath. 

“Stay down punk,” the man laughs.

“Hey,” a familiar voice calls out, “pick on someone your own size!” Thomas Grace swaggers up in his new army uniform, before punching the lights out of the rude man, and sending him packing. 

They're brothers, even if Jason and Thomas only really share their jawline and greek noses. Thomas looks every bit their mother’s son, dark thick hair, with a smile that charmed before he'd even said a word, and well built from years of working in deliveries. His silver eyes shine with amusement as he offers Jason and hand, “do you really have to pick a fight with every punk in Brooklyn?”

Tommy is tall, dark and handsome, something every dame took notice of. Jason was, he was always the guy people overlooked. Though they didn't share the same father, all Jason had was Tommy growing up. 

“I had him on the ropes,” Jason replies back with a smile. 

“Sure you did.”

“You enlist then,” Jason asks with a little jealousy. He should be going with his brother. He should have Tommy's back. 

Tommy stands proud. “Sargent Thomas Grace. With the 107th infantry. We ship out first thing tomorrow. You? Jason from Jersey,” the older man sniggers.

“I hadn't tried Jersey yet,” Jason protests as they walk out of the alley, “and,” he sighs, “I got 4F’d again.”

“I don't see what the problem is,” Tommy says with an easy smile, “you're about to be the only man left in a city with millions of lonely dames. You're not being sent out to die-”

“You're not going to die,” Jason says, slapping his brother's arm. “You're not.” Tommy was all Jason had. 

“You don't know that. If you want to help that badly go work for the utilities or something Jay.”

“I can't just sit back while everyone else goes to protect us-while you go,” Jason protests. 

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Lying to a recruitment office is illegal Jason. It's not worth it.”

It was easy for Tommy to say, when he was enlisted without any problem. He'd be freeing France and the whole of Europe before long. Tommy was going off to help people, really help not a step in what might be helpful also known as the war effort, and see the fruit of his labors while Jason would bake bread and read about it in the papers. 

“Cheer up,” Tommy tries, changing tactics, “it's my last night in New York. I got us a double date.”

Jason laughs. “You didn't waste any time.”

“I don't have any left to waste.”

In her defense, Amy makes small talk with Jason as they buy tickets to the Chase Expo. She's got her hair done up in victory rolls, eyes slightly too far apart on her face, and a splotch of red on her chin for a birthmark. “-I wish I’d stuck with german in school now but writing out telegrams is a job all the same,” she explains as Jason pays for them both. It's obvious they'd been roped into this both as Tommy shamelessly flirts with a Irish girl who still had a thick brogue when she spoke. 

From Amy he'd learned she sent telegrams. 

“I took latin,” Jason tells her, figuring he's not going to make her miserable on his account. “Only option they gave at St. Agnes’.” 

“You catholic,” Amy asks. 

“Sometimes.”

Amy laughs. “At least you're honest about it. My whole family's christian 'cept for my dad. Never forgot how the catholic soup kitchen kept us fed in the depression.”

“We're heading to the Chase Pavillion first,” Tommy explains. “There's supposed to be a flying car.”

“Load of rubbish if you ask me,” Erin laughs, “it'll be like those so called mermaids at Coney Island.”

“Well let's go find out,” Tommy grins, offering Erin a hand. 

The Chase Pavillion is the main building, a small light show full of posters imagining the future with flying cars and a car for every person. Cartoon families smile as they take picnics on the lawn. 

“Look at that,” Amy grins as a man shoots at a long stretch of cloth only for the bullet to ricochet off. There’s portable projects whose image is terrible but they're the size of a briefcase and don't need any cumbersome reels. 

An autonomous telegram machine pumps out messages.

“Guess you're out of a job ladies,” Tommy grins.

Erin scoffs in amusement, “doubt a hunk of metal can do a better job than me.”

“What do you think Jason,” Amy asks. 

“It's flashy. . .but these are all in development? Aren't they?”

“For when we win,” Amy grins. “We’ll get the first flying cars.”

The lights on the stage turn on, shining on a glimmering gold car. Show girls come out and dance around the car as it slowly turns.

A tall blonde woman who can't be any older than Jason comes out on stage in a suit worthy of Katherine Hepburn herself, with shoulder pads that might as well be a weapon. “Ladies and Gentleman, I'm Dr. Athena Chase,” she calls out, sounding very much like the cat who's finally caught the mouse, “what if I told you, in just a few short years, your car won't even have to touch the ground.”

The showgirls pop the wheels off the car. 

The young suit clad dame smiles triumphantly as a bush defends around the room, all eyes on her. “Well, with Chase Revertic Reversion technology, you'll be able to do just that.” Her blue eyes look away from the crowd as she shifts buttons on a control panel and the car-

The car starts levitating off the ground.

“Holy cow,” Tommy exclaims as the crowd claps.

The woman smiles in self satisfaction as she points a hand to the car, now a good foot off the ground.

“You can say that again,” Erin giggles.

Then, electricity sparks from the car as it crashes back down to earth. 

The woman doesn't stop smiling, but it's more forced now “I did say a few years didn't I?”

The crowd laughs with her. 

Jason sighs, guessing everyone but him was helping in some way. He looks around the pavilion, a nicely set up tent, just here for some months, and spots a recruitment office. 

He could try again.

There was nothing wrong with trying again. 

Jason lets his feet carry him to the office, following the crowd inside. There's posters of “loose lips sink ships” and soldiers saluting the flag. He steps up in front of a mirror, too short to properly fit into a soldier's uniform--story of his life.

He sighs. 

If they just gave him a chance, he could help. Jason didn't need to be the hero that ended the war, he just wanted to do what every man out there was--his duty. 

“Come on,” Tommy thumps his back. “You're kind of missing the point of a double date. We're taking the girls dancing,” his brother says with an easy smile, looking dapper in his uniform. 

“You go ahead. I'll catch up,” Jason says, hands in his pockets as he steals himself for another attempt. 

“You're really going to do this again?”

“It's a fair,” Jason shrugs, “I'm going to try my luck.”

“As who? Jason from Ohio? Jason,” Tommy scowls deeply, “it's not a game, Jason. If they catch you-Or worse, they'll actually take you.”

Jason flinches. “Look, I know you don't think I can do this-”

“This isn't a back alley Jay, it's war.”

“I know it's a war,” he protests, pushing his glasses back up his nose bridge. 

“Why are you so keen to fight-there’s so many important jobs!”

“I'm not going to sit in a factory while other men lay down their lives for my freedom,” Jason bites back. He wasn't a boy anymore.

“I'd feel much better knowing you were safe here,” Tommy admits. “You're my brother-I don't want you to die!”

“This isn't about you,” Jason replies. “Or me. It's about what's right. I've got no right to do any less then the men out there laying down their lives.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Right well, I've got a dance to attend. Just. . .” he steps back, eyes lined red, “don't do anything stupid until I get back.”

“How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you,” Jason laughs, looking up and meeting his brothers silver eyes.

Then Tommy turns on his foot and Jason feels like reaching out, hugging him one last time, but instead, he turns and walks into the recruitment office, ready to try again.

He wasn't sure he could let his brother go. 

Jason fills out the familiar paperwork again, checking the boxes because they'll find out about the asthma and heart murmur during the physical, and there was no way to hide the glasses. He couldn't even see five feet in front of him without glasses. 

Then a nurse takes him behind a curtain and he sits down, kicking off his shoes to wait. 

He could do this. 

It didn't matter that he wasn't the tallest or strongest guy he knew. Jason was going to serve. 

Anxiety turns his stomach into knots as he waits. He's been here so many times before. Jason’s been volunteering since they started asking for men to go fight, since soldiers were being trained right here in case Germany brought the war to them. 

And yet, he’s still here.

A short balding man walks in. He's got glasses like Jason, and a bit of a belly, but a kind expression as he asks with an obvious german accent, “Jason Grace?”

“That's me.”

The man flips through his enlistment form. “So you want to go overseas. Kill some Nazis?”

“Excuse me?” Jason asks, having never heard it out this way before. Most doctors were so clinical during the physical exam. Was he going to jail?

“I'm Dr. Abraham Erkskine,” the older man says, offering an outstretched hand, “I represent the Strategic Scientific Reserve.”

Jason shakes the man's hand, no longer worried they'd caught him lying. “Where are you from?” There had been lots of german immigrants in the last decade. 

“Queens. 73rd street and Utopia parkway.” The man says succinctly. “Before that, German.” He sets the file down. “This troubles you?”

“No,” Jason rushes. He was the last person who'd judge someone on a detail they had no control over. 

“Where are you from Mr. Grace,” Dr Erkskine asks, “Is if New Haven? Paramus? Paterson?”

Shit, Jason thinks to himself. 

The whole illegal thing was true. He thought they just made it up. No one went to jail for trying to join the army. 

“Four exams in four different cities,” Dr. Erkskine says with a raised eyebrow. 

“That might not be the right file,” Jason tries weakly.

“No,” the man waves off, “it's not the four exams I'm interested in. It's the four tries. But you didn't answer my question,” the man takes a seat with Jason. “Do you want to kill nazis?”

“Is this a test?”

“Yes.”

Jason meets the man's searching gaze. “I don't want to kill anyone,” he admits. “I don't like bullies. I don't care where they're from.” 

Dr Erkskine nods with a shrug. “There are already so many big men fighting this war. Maybe what we need now is the little guy?” Unlike so many others before him, he doesn't say little patronizingly. “I can offer you a chance, but only a chance.”

“I'll take it,” Jason says eagerly. 

“Good,” Dr Erkskine stands, leading them back out to the desk where Jason had been turned away before, “So where is the little guy from, actually?”

“Brooklyn.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thalia = thomas  
> on the plus side bianca as peggy means she does get to live long and eventually ends up happy and founds shield. i dont plan to have bianca and jason as endgame


	3. The Beginning of Captain America

Dr. Krios adjusts the machine, going over the systems, hyper aware of Hera Schmidt’s position, looking over the various manuscripts in history that had led them to the tesseract. When he had been a boy in university, he had not imagined chasing down fairy tales. 

Hera had yet to let the tesseract out of her sight.

“Dr Krios,” Hera asks, cracking open the ancient box the tesseract was found in, “will your generators be able to handle the surge in energy?”

“Yes Commander Schmidt,” he defers, having heard of the red skulls temper before. The foot soldiers who'd invoked her wrath when they questioned the woman's orders did not make that, or any other mistake, again. “They are capable of withstanding the surge for the transference.”

Blue light radiates from the cube, powered by forces yet to be understood. When they won the war, Dr Krios would be thanked by the Fuhrer himself, he was sure of it. Everyone would learn of his contributions to science in school.

“Then what are we waiting for,” Hera commands, lifting the tesseract with the metallic claw designed for the cube. “Let us begin.” She slots the tesseract into the converter. 

“Caution is wise,” Dr Krios states blandly, as he turns to power level up, to ten percent, to twenty.

“Keep going Dr,” Hera says with a gleaming smile on her face.

Blue sparks fill the air as he cranks the power to fifty, to sixty. The metal creaks as the power surges to eighty, light so bright Krios cannot see, can only feel the lever as he dials it up the final stretch. 

He hears the crack of electricity, like a bolt of lightning, and then the process is done. He swallows, not wanting to have failed. Dr Krios cannot fail. Not when they'd finally found it.

He and Hera approach the battery. 

It glows blue.

“Well Dr, it worked.”

Krios sucks in a breath. “This is going to win the war.” Hitler will forget he ever doubted Hydra. And so will all Nazi command. 

“No Krios,” Hera says delighted, “it's going to change the world.”

  
  


Jason arrives at the bootcamp. He’s the smallest of the bunch and they don’t let him forget it. All his worldly possessions fit into the standard issue army bag, a couple of books from charity shops he was fond of, a photograph of him and his brother as children, and some clothes. It’s their first night and everyone’s got the jitters. 

Hodge spends an hour playing hot potato with Jason’s glasses, but like all bullies,the moment he sits down and ignores him, he gives them back, annoyed at the lack of response. Jason gets army green and he goes to sleep nervous, but content. 

The bugle sounds at the crack of dawn,and it's a flurry of activity as Jason dons his new uniform. They all scamper out of their barrack, falling into a rough line, still new, still unsure about what was expected of them.It had only been a day. 

Jason cleans his glasses with the cuff of his shirt sleeve. 

A jeep drives up. There’s three people, a driver wearing similar clothes as Jason, a man in a tweed suit flipping through papers, and a brunette woman with cherry red lipstick.

She’s the only one that gets out of the car, shouting, “recruits! Attention,” and halts in front of Jason and his fellow recruits. If the heels make it hard to walk on damp earth, she doesn’t let it show, in an army green skirt suit. “I’m Agent Di Angelo,” she says sternly, looking them over, in a BBC radio accent, “I supervise all operations for this division.” 

Agent Di Angelo is a beautiful woman,hair pinned back, her features are on full display, a well formed mouth, piercing eyes, and a no nonsense attitude that Jason already liked. 

“What’s with the accent Queen Victoria,” Hodge laughs in amusement, something he wouldn’t dare do if Agent Di Angelo wasn’t a woman, “Thought I was signing up for the U.S. Army?” 

Jason winces, already knowing this wasn’t going to end well. No one, man or woman, was about to let some punk give them shit when they were in charge. 

“What’s your name soldier,” Agent Di Angelo asks, pausing in front of Hodge, looking him over unimpressed and showing it. 

“Gilmore Hodge your majesty.”

“Step forward Hodge,” she orders. 

Hodge still has the stupid smile on his face, like this is all a joke to him, like this training isn’t the difference between saving lives and dying. 

“Put your right foot forward.” It’s then that Jason notices Agent Di Angelo has a sturdy built just like the women at the bakery who spent the day kneading bread. She has broad shoulders and lean shapely legs. Yeah, she didn’t take shit from recruits. 

“We gonna wrestle,” Hodge jokes, looking her right in the eye, “cause I got a few moves I know you’ll like.” 

Jason winces at the sound of Agent Di Angelo’s fist making contact with Hodge’s face. It sends the man down, like a pin getting slammed by a bowling ball. 

He looks over at her, and smiles. He’s looking forward to being trained by her. 

Hodge had really walked into that one. 

“Agent Di Angelo,” an older man walks up with Dr. Erskine. 

She turns her back on them, saluting the man, “Colonel Philips.” 

“I can see that you’re breaking in the candidates, that’s good,” the colonel says, looking them over with a studious gaze. He wore a bomber jacket and the lines on his face spoke of experience. 

He frowns down at Hodge, “step your ass out of that dirt and stand in that line at attention til somebody comes and tells you what to do.”

With a respect he’d lacked moment’s earlier, Hodge answers, “Yes, sir.” 

Jason shakes his head. Some people just had to be assholes for no reason. If he'd mouthed off like that in the orphanage, the nuns would've belted him good. 

Colonel Philips walks slowly up the line. “General Patton has said that wars are fought with weapons but they are won by men. We are going to win this war because we have the best men. . .” he looks over where Jason is standing besides Donahue who was barely eighteen but was well built from high school football. Jason stands up straighter. “And because they are going to get better-much better.”

“The Strategic Scientific Reserve is an allied effort made up of the best minds in the free world. Our goal is to create the best army in history. But every army starts with one man,” the Colonel swallows thickly, letting the seriousness of his words sink in. “At the end of this week, we will choose that man. He will be the first in a new breed of super soldiers. Take it away Agent Di Angelo.”

The next week is a haze of mud and sweat and dirt and Jason falling into his cot a mess of bruises and aching muscles only to wake up still sore and do it all over again. He loves it. 

It doesn't matter that his hands burn from the rope as he pulls himself up, ignoring Hodge as he laughs when Jason slips. Donahue just grins and says “keep going brooklyn!”

He crawls at a snail's pace under the barbed wire and drags himself through the mud, wondering if this was what the trenches were like during the great war. Jason lowers his face, going forward with his helmet protecting him. 

The drill sergeant yells, “Grace! Get that rifle out of the mud.” 

Jason would, only he can barely lift himself off the mud. Excuses, he doesn't bother giving them, taking a deep breath to calm the wheezing in his chest as he keeps going. 

So of course Hodge kicks the post down.

Barbed wire falls on top of Jason and he's grateful for his thin build, he manages to shimmy his way free with minimal tears from the barbs. He sheds the mud for more sweat as the drill sergeant sends them to run laps, and pours salt in the wound, as the man runs and yells and never runs out of breath as they all struggle to keep up. 

“I should've gone to college,” Porter huffs, all red faced as sweat runs down Jason's brow and he has to blink the sweat out of his eyes, had to tuck his glasses into his pocket as they fog up with steam from how warm he is. 

His lungs burn as he breaths and so does every muscle in his legs. Pain shoots through his abdomen as he keeps the group in his blurry sight. Jason's the tail end, but he's keeping up. It's not like they're lapping him.

They're all in the same struggle together. 

“Pick up the pace ladies,” the sergeant yells even though Jason is sure Di Angelo could lap them all, “let's go let's go! Double time! Come on! Faster! Faster,” the man calls out without pausing for breath, “Move! Move!”

Jason forces himself forward. 

He's got this.

“Squad halt!”

The men all suck in sweet sweet air as they come to a stop. Jason fumbles to put on his glasses. 

“That flag means we're only as the halfway point,” the sergeant points to a pole held in place by a pin. “First man to bring it to me gets a ride back with Agent Di Angelo.” It's like lighting a fire under their butts. The entire company scrambles to the pole as Jason studies it, trying to figure out the best way up. 

The men scramble up the pole, one, two steps before falling back down. 

“If that's all you got this army's in trouble! Get up there Hodge! Come on! Get up there!”

But they're all too slick from sweat to pull themselves up, Jason realizes. He could coat his hands in dry dirt for a better grip but Jason already knows he lacks the upper body strength to pull himself all the way up. 

Well, he never said how to get it down. There was only one pin holding it in place. 

“Nobody's got that flag in seventeen years! Now fall back in line! Come on! Let's go! Get back into formation!”

Jason walks up to the pole.

“Grace! I said fall in!”

He pulls the pin out of the pole and watches as it falls to the ground. He takes the flag off and hands it to the sergeant. “Thank you sir,” before hopping into the Jeep's back seat. 

Di Angelo looks back at him with an amused smile, giving him a nod of congratulations. 

Jason smiles back, catching his breath as they drive back.

“Faster ladies come on! My grandmother has more life in her, god rest her soul. Move it,” Agent Di Angelo shouts, proving she was every bit as harsh an instructor as the men at camp. 

Jason's arms shake as he lowers down for another push up. 

He squeezes his eyes shut as he forces himself back up, hands trembling as he steals himself to do another push up. It was getting better. Six days ago, he could barely do twenty, he was nearing sixty today. It was a personal best. 

He sucks in a breath and losers himself back to the ground. 

It's a push up too much. 

Jason collapses to the ground, glasses getting smothered in dirt as he lays there and catches his breath. He wheezes and gives himself one. . .two. . .three seconds before trying again. 

“Alright get up,” Di Angelo barks, “jumping jacks! Come on girls!”

Jason scrambles to his feet, his arms sagging at his sides before he starts jumping, forcing his arms up again. 

He was going to be so dead tomorrow. 

“Grenade,” Colonel Philips shouts, tossing the small thing in the middle of the men. 

Jason feels panic run through his veins before he's moving, scampering to the grenade, as his fellow recruits run for cover. 

He could do this, he could save them! One life or twenty--it was an easy choice. 

Jason curls up on top of the grenade, shouting, “Get away,” as Agent Di Angelo rushes to his side, “Get back!” He didn't want her to get hurt. Her orders were more encouraging than deprecating. And he likes her. The way she smiles at him, seeing him and valuing his effort even as the sergeant winced every time Jason shows up in the morning, still there. Di Angelo looks at him, and sees him. 

He isn't just the plus one to Tommy that no one really wants there. 

Jason shuts his eyes. There were worse ways to go, than protecting your fellow recruits. 

He holds his breath, ready for the explosion. 

But nothing happens. 

Jason opens his eyes. 

“It was a dummy grenade,” Agent Di Angelo says, trying to get things back in order even as she looks down at him, eyes blow wide in admiration. He loves her eyes, the warm hazelnut color, they're full of an inquisitiveness that makes Jason's heart do a little flip when she looks at him. “All clear. Back in formation gentlemen.” There's a hint of a smile on her red lips.

Jason over at Colonel Philips, “is this a test?”

The Colonel just walks away without another glance. 

One more day, he had one more day to show them what he was made of. Hopefully that was enough. Dr. Erskine had already given him this chance, he didn't want to waste it.

When he heads back to the barracks that night, it's just him left. It was him. Jason Grace, the skinny guy everyone was always writing off. 

He swallows. They'd-he'd shown them. Jason had stuck it out, and it had paid off. 

He sits down on his cot, looking around the empty barrack. 

Philips, Di Angelo, Erskine, they'd all seen what he knew he had. 

“Can't sleep,” Dr. Erskine asks, wandering in with a bottle of schnapps. 

“I've got the jitters,” Jason admits. He wasn't sure what to expect. Nothing like this had ever happened before and-there was a lot of his mind.

“Me too.” Dr. Erskine takes a seat on the cot in front of Jason.

“Can I ask you a question?”

The Dr smiles, “Just one?”

“Why me?” Even Jason wasn't so dumb as to look at Donahue or Porter, the image of soldiers plastered on every poster, and think he was the shoe in. 

“I suppose that is the only question that matters,” the man sighs. He looks down at the bottle of schnapps. “This is from Augsburg. My city. So many people forget that the first country that the Nazis invaded was their own. You know. . .after the last war, my people struggled. They. . .they felt weak. They felt small.” Dr. Erskine has the tragic expression of a shakespearean actor, “and then Hitler comes along with the marching and the big show and the flags and the. . .and. . .and he hears of me, of my work, and he finds me and says, you,” Dr. Erskine points at Jason, “you will make us strong. Well. . . I am not interested. I am jewish. My-my sister had fled with her family the year before. I-how could I be interested? But Hitler does not take no for an answer.” He opens the bottle, pouring two glasses, only about three fingers worth. “So he sends the head of Hydra, his research division. A brilliant scientist by the name of Hera Schmidt.” 

Dread fills Jason's stomach as Dr. Erskine explains things to him. He'd guessed at the man being a refugee, but not from Hitler himself.

Dr. Erskine fixes his glasses, “now Schmidt is a member of the inner circle and she's ambitious. She and Hitler share a passion for occult power and teutonic myth. 

Hitler uses his fantasies to inspire his followers. But for Hera, it is not fantasy. For her, it is real. 

She became convinced that there is a great power hidden in the earth, left here by the gods, waiting to be seized by a superior human. 

So when she hears about my formula, what it can do, she cannot resist.

Hera must become that superior human: the ubermensch.”

“Did it make him stronger,” Jason can't help but ask. Had the serum worked?

“Yeah. But there were other effects.” Dr. Erskine looks down at his shoes. “The serum was not ready, but more important, the man. The serum amplifies everything that is inside, so good becomes great. Bad becomes worse. 

This is why you were chosen. 

A strong man, who has known power all his life, will lose respect for the power, but a weak man. . .a weak man knows the value of strength and knows compassion.” 

Jason smiles funnily at the older scientist. “Thanks, I think.”

Dr Erskine raises the glass to his lips, “Whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing, that you will stay who you are.

Not a perfect soldier, but a good man.” He throws back the liquor. 

“Okay.” Jason reaches for the other glass.

“No. What am I doing, you have an operation tomorrow. No liquids.”

Jason laughs. “After then?”

Dr Erskine grins, “I do not have an operation.” He drinks the second glass. “I drink it now.”

It's Agent Di Angelo who takes a car with him back into the city. The sun is barely rising and not a hair is out of place as he slides into the seat next to her. 

“Congratulations Soldier,” she says easily. 

“It's Jason. Jason Grace,” he says nervously. It might be the impending procedure, or getting time with the woman he can't get out of his head, not the challenge in her eyes as she made them run drills, or the smile she sometimes got with someone did something particularly dumb. 

“Bianca Di Angelo.” She shakes his hand. 

Her hands aren't soft like her posh accent suggests, but callused from years working up to her rank. 

The city comes into view as they cross the bridge into town. 

Jason fidgets with his glasses, taking her profile in as she looks straight ahead, all professional mannerisms. He might never see her again after this. If he was Tommy, he'd just shoot his shot with confidence. 

He wasn't sure she was the type to be swayed by that sort of brazen flirting. 

“I recognize this neighborhood,” Jason says, looking out the car window. “I got beat up in that alley. And that parking lot.” Tommy had saved the day, like usually. Was he fighting yet? It had only been a week. He was fine.

Bianca raises one well groomed brow, amusement on her lips, “did you have something against running away?”

“You start running they never let you stop. You stand up, push back. Can't say no forever, right?”

Bianca looks over at him, a bitter smile on her lips. “I know what that's like, to have every door shut in your face.”

“ I guess I just don't know why you want to join the army if you're such a beautiful dame.” Dammit Jason. Why'd he have to say that--, “You're a beautiful...woman, an agent not a dame you are beautiful but…” He looks forward and wonders if the serum also erases all the painfully awkward conversations he's had, is currently having. 

“You have no idea how to talk to a woman do you,” she smirks.

“I think this is the longest conversation I've had with one. Women aren't exactly lining up to dance with a guy they might step on.”

“You must have danced?” Her dark romantic eyes look at him, a softness to her expression he hadn't seen at boot camp.

“Well, asking a woman to dance always seems so terrifying. And the past few years just didn't seem to matter that much. Figured I'd wait.”

Bianca asks, “for what?”

“The right partner,” Jason answers, “I know how cheesy that sounds.”

“Some things are worth waiting for,” Bianca agrees. “More than one man has been put off by my job, and that's after I've sorted out the. . .”

“Hodges?”

Bianca laughs, her shoulders shaking with the joy of it. “That certainly is one way of putting it.”

They exit onto a nondescript Brooklyn street. “Follow me,” Bianca orders, back to all business as she leads the way into an antiques shop.

“Wonderful weather this morning,” a woman who must be at least a decade taller than Bianca, and built like a washerwoman, comments.

“Yes,” Bianca says blandly, “but I always carry an umbrella.”

Then they're passing through a secret entrance, like in the detective comics, and Bianca looks at him as Jason gets his first glance at the busy workers preparing for the procedure: for his procedure. 

He nods at her. 

She leads him to the floor.

Dr. Erskine spots him. “Good morning,” the man greets warmly. A lightbulb flashes as they shake hands, capturing the moment for posterity. “Please, not now,” Dr. Erskine waves them away. 

Jason looks at the tube he’ll soon be encased in. It resembles an iron lung, somewhat. 

“Ready.”

Jason nods. 

“Good. Take off your shirt, your tie, and your hat.” 

Jason obliges, glancing back just one at Bianca, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. But the agent simply shrugs, waiting. She was a woman in a man’s world. He doubted much shook her anymore, especially now with the war raging on in her country. 

He finishes unbuttoning his shirt, before hopping onto the cot. He looks up at the ceiling, and tries to calm down. Jason can practically hear his heart skip a beat as his nerves act up. 

“Comfortable,” Dr Erskine asks.

“It’s a little big.”

That gets a chuckle from the scientist. 

Jason smiles, “you save me any of that schnapps.”

“Not as much as I should have,” Dr. Erskine admits, “sorry, next time.” He didn’t sound very sorry at all. 

He looks behind, “Dr. Chase, how are your levels?”

Athena Chase wears patent leather dress shoes with a grey pantsuit. She’s still taller than half the room, hair pulled back into a tight bun, as she rolls up her shirtsleeves. With a wolfish grin, she replies, coming over to check the machine Jason’s sitting in. “Levels at 100%. We may dim half the lights in Brooklyn, but nothing was ever accomplished without breaking some eggs.” 

Jason gulps, remembering how the car had fried on stage back at Chase Expo. Had that really only been a week ago. 

Athena Chase presses a button then pivots back to the energy levels, her back pin straight as she checks things all over again, breaking out a pair of welder’s goggles, neater than anything on the market. 

Jason notices her bare hand. 

There was no way Athena was much older than him, yet she stood with a commanding presence alongside the brightest minds in the world, calling the shots. 

“Agent Di Angelo,” Dr. Erskine asks, “don't you think you would be more comfortable in the booth.” 

“Yes. Of course,” Bianca answers, hesitating as she catches Jason’s gaze again. She smiles softly over at him, before disappearing from his line of vision. 

This was what he’d wanted. 

Dr. Erskine picks up a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, today, we take not another step towards annihilation, but the first step on a path to peace.” 

Jason wonders how many times Dr. Erskine had gone over this speech. 

Men and women buzz around him like worker bees as they slot in the serum and begin closing up the machine. 

“We begin with a series of micro injections into the subjects major muscle groups. The serum infusion will cause immediate cellular change. And then to stimulate growth, the subject will be saturated with Vita-Rays.” It’s a bunch of science terms that go right over Jason’s head. 

“Serum infusion beginning in five, four, three, two, one.”

Jason grunts, biting down on his teeth as the needles enter his skin. Tommy had once gotten a cavity and the needle’s the dentist used are small by comparison. 

“Now Dr. Chase,” Dr. Erskine calls out as the capsule closes over his head. 

The world goes dark around Jason and he feels the capsule move upright, more than he can tell himself. It’s what having vertigo must feel like. He isn’t 100% confident about what is up and down anymore. 

“Can you hear me Mr. Grace,” Dr. Erskine taps the glass. 

“It’s probably too late to go to the bathroom right,” Jason answers dryly. His destitute mother probably never imagined this for her son. 

“We will proceed,” the head scientist calls out, but the voice is muffled, like hearing voices underwater. 

Jason takes a deep breath. It was too late to have second thoughts now. Way too late. 

The vita rays aren’t warm like sunlight is, but bright, brighter than any light he’s ever seen, closer to a fiery blue, glowing how, and burning him. His skin isn’t hot, it’s on fire, and he keeps trying to look down, convinced he’s being cremated alive. 

He shifts as his muscles itch like crazy, like ants crawling up all over him and his struggles to bite back the screams in his throat as the serum works its way into his blood, into his bones. 

Voices outside cry out and he can’t distinguish between any of them. He shouts, but not for help. “Keep going!” He wasn’t going to be an undercooked cake. 

Jason squeezes his eyes shut, retinas burning, spots of blue white light dance in his vision as his body metals, changes into some foreign things. It was the lightness after an asthma attack, when his body felt too light to be his, an out of body experience. 

Its hours, days, maybe only seconds, when the capsule moves again. 

He’s too exhausted to say anything. 

It’s the last time he’ll ever be exhausted, he thinks, sucking in a deep breath of air as the capsule opens and the familiar heartbeat that skipped too often to be healthy is gone. Jason opens his blue eyes and-

He no longer needs glasses to see the shock on everyone's faces. 

Dr. Erskine helps him out. 

“I did it,” Jason manages, everything bizarre in his eyes. He no longer looked up at everyone. 

“I think we did it,” the familiar german accent teases. 

“Here’s for dreaming big gentlemen,” Athena crows triumphantly from his other side. 

But it’s Bianca his gaze catches on, the quick way she makes her way to his side, looking him over, “How’d you feel?”

“Taller,” he says, catching. . .no. . .figuring out what to do with this new body, even breathing was different, the change so large so soon. 

“You look taller,” Bianca says lightly. 

He can't tell if it’s a good thing. He hopes it's a good thing. He hopes Bianca will still smile softly at him the way she had before the serum. 

Someone hands him a shirt, and then theres so many men in well tailored suits shaking his hand. A senator grins, “Berlin’s about to get very nervous--”

Then there’s the loud crack of a gunshot, echoing throughout the lab. 

Everyone shrinks to their knees, but Jason, for all his new. . .something, can only look as the bullets punch through Dr. Erskine’s chest. 

“Stop him,” someone yells as a man in a grey suit grabs the only vial of serum left and runs for the door. 

Jason takes a step, ready to run, but fumbles, still unused to himself. 

Bianca shoots the man as he runs up the stairs, not hesitating for a second. 

Dr. Erskine breathes his last breath in Jason’s arms, smiling up at him before life leaves his eyes. Jason frowns, gently putting the man to rest on the floor, before taking off after the man. 

He flies out into the street, watching as Bianca aims her gun straight at the cab barreling towards her. She doesn’t move, gaze pinned on the spy, ready to die for her country. 

Jason tackles her out of the way. 

“I had him!”

“Sorry,” he says, already running after the car. 

Jason takes off, gaining speed with ease as he runs, blood pumping and his lungs don’t burn as he watches the cab turn a street corner. He changes direction, keeping the car in sight, but his momentum throws him off. Jason runs into a store window. 

Falling onto his side for a second, he shakes the glass of his body. It doesn’t hurt. He’s not even sure he got hurt. “Sorry,” he cries, taking off again. 

He jumps a fence, arms flapping wildly at his sides, but he clears it, landing on the other side and watching the tail end of the cab weave through the streets. 

Jason jumps, landing onto the yellow cab, clutching at the sides of the room as the driver jerks the car. The metal gives; Jason’s hands leaving hand-prints on the steel. 

The spy shoots: shoots at the roof, and out the window, aiming wildly at Jason. 

He’s not stupid. He’s not superman or some bulletproof alien. Jason doesn’t know his limits yet, the serum’s limits, he moves, getting out of the way as the driver crashes the car. 

He’s thrown from the car roof, landing hard on the pavement. 

He gets up, again, shaking off the burst of pain from his side at the impact. 

The car’s spun onto its roof, half crushed in the middle of the street. People gather around the commotion. 

The spy doesn’t get up. 

Jason approaches cautiously, ripping the car door off it’s hinges in his attempt to open the door. 

The spy sits there, blood pouring from the cuts on his face. His leg is caught in the crushed metal. The spy’s eyes meet Jason's and he smiles. 

“Who the hell are you,” Jason asks.

The spy looks down where the vial of serum had fallen, now merely broken shards of glass, the precious serum mixing with the car’s rubble. “The first of many. Cut off one head, two more shall take its place.” The man bites down hard. 

And Jason can only watch helplessly as poison fills the man’s mouth. 

“Hail hydra!”


End file.
